


Live With Yourself

by MorKen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron, Aurors, Fights, Gay, Gay Male Character, Investigations, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4577163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorKen/pseuds/MorKen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy's life has been a bit of a mess since the end of the war. While the mania and unbridled hatred against the Malfoys has finally begun to die down, a storm is brewing. Battling self-hatred and a crushing personal dilemma, Draco's life is about to fall even further into shambles when he his forced alongside Harry Potter to help in an investigation involving his own family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live With Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a unique "business agreement" with a man name William, and we see a glimmer of the mess Draco currently finds himself in.

William Brown was not the sort of man that had many friends. Of course, there weren't many inhabitants of Knockturn Alley that people were itching to befriend, anyways. Even after the end of the Second War, it was still a place notorious for harboring the 'unwanteds' residing within the Wizarding World. Six years after the Dark Lord was defeated, and Knockturn Alley still served as a shadowy cesspool filled with miscreants and unsavory characters. William Brown happened to be one of those unsavory characters, and he was currently sitting on the filthy ground, leaning up against the stone wall as he worked on getting the grime out from underneath his equally filthy fingernails.

He stopped when he heard a familiar clicking of shoes making their way through the labyrinth of dark, dank alleyways. He slowly lowered his hands into his lap, listening as their echoing became louder and louder. Those clicking shoes were searching for _him_.

William's shoulders tensed and his shoes scuffled along the stone ground as he scrambled to stand, trying his best to straighten his hunched back, which gave several cracks up along the length of his spine as he did so. The sound of the shoes was getting even louder. He swallowed and glanced down at his filthy coat and trousers, quickly giving them a pat-down in a halfhearted effort to look as presentable as he could.

"Ah, William," a voice drawled from behind William as his visitor turned the corner. He forced a measly, gap-toothed smile as the man neared him, his shock of hair so white and luminescent that it practically acted as a torch, lighting his way as he made his way down the tight alley towards William.

"Misser Malfoy," William answered, giving a small, curt bow of his head in greeting. "It's been a while, 'asn't it?"

Draco Malfoy gave a nasty smirk through the shadows as he came to a halt in front of William beside a decrepit cart with one wheel and rotting wood. William liked that cart. If it became cold and gusty through the maze of the alleys, he could huddle on one side of the it and he would be shielded from the brunt of the unsavory weather. William had learned to take nothing for granted during his life, whether it be the tiny bit of extra comfort a broken-down cart could provide him, or a unique business opportunity that paid well and helped keep food in his belly. Yes, he appreciated that broken-down old cart. The cart that Draco Malfoy was currently using to keep his coat and vest from falling on the grimy ground as he removed and deposited them onto its rotting wooden surface. William supposed that, in a sense, he could also appreciate Draco Malfoy, though only in a sick, depressing sort of way.

William watched, his muscles tensing in anticipation and dread so tightly that it sent pangs shooting up his neck and shoulders, as Draco Malfoy rolled up the sleeves of his button down, which William could tell was expensive, despite the lack of light around them.

He swallowed thickly when Malfoy pulled out a pair of thin, black dragonhide gloves from his pants pocket and slipped them on.

"I'm thinking seventy-five today, William," Malfoy sighed, reaching into his other pants pocket. William suppressed a sigh of relief. Seventy-five meant Malfoy wouldn't be too angry today. William had soon learned to gauge Malfoy's emotional state by the amount he offered William each time they met. Fifty was likely to just be a quick jostle, usually if Malfoy was bored and just wanted something to do. Seventy-five signaled that he'd be needing to let loose a bit of pent-up irritation. Ninety meant a royally pissed-off blondie. Anything above one-hundred, however, was a warning that William was in for a hellish day.

As Malfoy began pulling out one small, velvet pouch from his other pocket, William's body jolted into action. He reached around his torso, giving his coat a series pat and, finding the correct pocket, he reached into it and pulled out a pouch of his own. This one was not as nice, made of canvas. Malfoy had given it to him the third time they had met like this, when Malfoy apparently discovered that these meetings with William were a good way to release his tensions. That simple gesture had sealed their contract. It had made them business partners, of sorts. William would offer a service, and Draco Malfoy would pay him for it. In fact, Malfoy's money served as William's only income. 

With a shaky, filthy hand, William handed Malfoy the pouch, which he took and began depositing into it seventy-five golden galleons that were so shiny they glimmered even in the dim light of the alleyway. As each coin fell from the velvet into the canvas, William's eyes couldn't help but trace every single one, carefully calculating the total in his head. In his peripheral, he could see Malfoy watching him with a faintly amused expression. How could he help it? It wasn't often William was able to see this much money at once, but for the spoiled little Draco Malfoy, he was sure it was nothing. For William, it this was his everything - aside from his lovely little rickety cart, of course.

"There you go, William," Malfoy said curtly when the seventy fifth galleon fell into Williams ratty canvas pouch. Malfoy slipped his back into his pocket and handed the other to William, who snatched it hungrily from his gloved, outstretched palm.

"Than' you," he said. With a wet, snotty sniff, William rubbed the back of his hand along his nostrils and quickly shoved the pouch roughly back into his coat.

Malfoy nodded and began loosening his tie. "Are you ready?" he asked, sticking his chin high into the air in that pompous, poofy way William always laughed at inside his head, but was never mad enough to comment on aloud.

William closed his eyes and inhaled deeply in an attempt to force himself to relax. It always hurt more when you weren't relaxed. While the breathing caused his muscles to stop tensing, it did nothing for the knot of nausea and apprehension in his gut. That feeling, however, was normal. No matter how many times they did this, the churning in his stomach could never be calmed.

As relaxed as he was going to get, William scrunched his eyes shut even tighter and nodded viciously. "Go on, Misser Malfoy," he choked.

The words had barely escaped him when the first punch collided with his jaw, sending him flying until his bony back hit the unforgiving stone wall behind him. He grunted. It hurt, but this he could take. He was thankful that Malfoy seemed generous enough today to start off easy with a lighter hit.

Before he could formulate a thought, another fist hit the other side of William's jaw. This once was harder than the last and it sent his neck snapping to the left. He staggered, but a firm hand reached out and grabbed his collar, preventing him from falling to the ground and landing on his shoulder. He was glad for that, because he really didn't want to have to worry with the possibility of a dislocated shoulder; it was actually a pretty common occurrence during their sessions, but William could never get used to the rather nasty pain that went with it.

A knee then connected with his lower abdomen, knocking the wind out of him, followed by a fist in the same location less than a second after, making him wheeze rather pathetically.

William had learned to keep his eyes closed shut, which he made sure to do now. Existing in a world of darkness was helpful in keeping him from seeing the next hit approaching him and tensing at the last second and instead staying loose, which ultimately helped reduce the pain. During this time, he also tried his best to keep his mind focused on trying to breathe evenly, and, most importantly, on trying to allow his mind to wander, which also helped to block out some of the pain.

It went on like that for about another fifteen minutes - which was an about average - before Malfoy stopped and shoved William roughly against the wall, signaling his final move in the assault. William then fell to the ground and immediately rolled into a fetal position, tucking his head between his knees. The pain wasn't as bad as other times, but Malfoy had been rough enough that William could already tell that he probably had a concussion, a cracked rib, and likely a fractured arm, as well. Above him, he heard Malfoy breathing heavily, likely shoving his fingers through his hair like he usually did afterwards when he would get all sweaty and various hairs would fall out of place and brush against his forehead and cheekbones. It was like he was trying to put himself back together. As long as Malfoy's hair was in order, William thought, so was Malfoy's mind. This he would have found amusing if he hadn't been in so much pain at the present.

Several minutes passed as both of the men's breathing slowed. William heard Malfoy's movements above him, but didn't bother to raise his head to look. He only sat there, his head still tucked between his knees, waiting for Malfoy to fulfill the final piece of their arrangement.

Thankfully he didn't need to wait long until he finally heard it. A muttered "Episkey" reverberated along the stone walls and William felt his cracked arm and rib click swiftly back into place, yanking a strangled cry from his throat. Then, slowly, the pain from his bruises began to fade, as did the pain in his head. Several minutes later, his vision finally cleared and he lifted his head to watch as Malfoy set his gloves aflame. The fire from his wand sent soft shadows blazing and flickering throughout the alley, which disappeared as swiftly and completely as they had appeared when the last bit of the glove was turned to ash.

Malfoy proceeded to roll down his shirt sleeves and button the cuffs, hen reaching for his vest and coat that were still draped on top of the broken-down cart, and put them on. Within a matter of minutes, Draco Malfoy was the clean-cut, prim and proper gent that had stepped down the alley half an hour before.

As he slowly came out of his daze, William thought about how familiar this entire exchange had become over the months they had been doing this in this same dark alley with the abysmal lighting and rickety cart that could be found within the maze of Knockturn Alley. He wondered if the intense familiarity of it all should bother him, but since he was being paid, he really didn't allow himself to think much of it. In fact, if anyone should be bothered by all of this, wasn't it supposed to be the customer and not the...well...provider? Admittedly, William liked to fancy himself a businessman in this situation. After all, he was providing something for the exchange of currency, and isn't that what a businessman does? In fact, he was practically an entrepreneur. To his credit, William had never cheated Malfoy out of anything - he always let him smack him around as much as he pleased, provided William was paid well enough; so he figured that there had to be some sense of propriety in all of this, no matter how minuscule it may be.

"Goodbye, William," Malfoy huffed, yanking on his coat. William snapped out of his thoughts and gave a wobbly, halfhearted wave to Malfoy.

"O' course, Misser Malfoy," he replied, his words falling flat as Draco Malfoy turned and swiftly made his way down the alley and turned the corner, taking his torch-like mass of hair with him, which oddly seemed to leave the space even darker than it had been before he'd arrived.

Shaking his head, William crawled over to his cart and, reaching inside, pulled out a dirty, tattered blanket scattered with holes and  carefully tucked it around himself as he leaned against the wall. As he shut his eyes, his aching body begging for rest, he gave his coat pocket a soft pat to make sure the canvas pouch was still there. It was; he could feel the small bulge of it through the layers. He sighed contentedly at this small reassurance and wondered, as his mind dragged him into sleep, how long it would be before Draco Malfoy came to find him yet again.

* * *

"You've been brawling with that bum again, haven't you?" Blaise drawled, glancing up from his book to watch as a slightly sweaty Draco Malfoy stalked out of his Floo, his face twisted into a grimace. Blaise squinted against the bright green flames that licked at Draco's heels as he made his way from the fireplace and towards the chairs Blaise had positioned in front of it to create a more cozy atmosphere within the room.

Draco huffed and sunk into the vacant leather armchair beside Blaise, dutifully ignoring him. Between them on a small table sat a tumbler filled with brandy and two empty glasses, which Blaise had purposely set out in anticipation for his arrival. Draco snatched an empty glass and poured a decent amount of the amber liquid into it. Tipping it back, he swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down, prominent along his almost too-thin neck as he did so. Blaise watched and raised an eyebrow as Draco sat the glass back down, revealing that he had nearly emptied it with the one swig.

"You know," Blaise hummed as his eyes went back to scanning the words on his page, "I think having a go at that ruffian is worse on you than you think."

Draco cast a sideways glance at his friend and immediately became conscious of his appearance. He quickly straightened his collar and shoved his fingers several times through his hair in an attempt to make himself look and feel slightly more put together.

"What do you mean by that, Blaise?" he demanded, snatching the glass again and this time draining it completely. He set it back down and glared at Blaise expectantly. 

Blaise licked his index finger lazily and used it to turn the page. He sighed, his eyes flicking across the page as he read. "I mean for some reason you insist that sneaking your poncy white arse down into Knockturn Alley to exchange a few galleons so you can fight some smelly homeless chap does you some good, when it's obvious to the contrary," he explained in a bored voice.

Draco scowled and bristled both at Blaise's disinterested tone, and also at the fact that Blaise was still bloody reading while he was talking to him sent Draco into a silent, stewing torrent of irritation. As if Blaise expected him to listen when Blaise himself wasn't even halfway invested in the conversation. Draco quickly reached his boiling point and in one swift movement he reached over and slapped the book out of the pretentious arse's hands, which sent it flying to the floor and landing next to the Floo with a rather loud and satisfying 'thunk'.

Blaise's hands curled instinctively at the loss of contact with the object and his head snapped up, staring venomously at Draco. "What the bloody hell was that for?" he snapped.

Draco shrugged impassively, feeling somewhat better and also rather satisfied with himself. He may not exactly be the little prat he was in school, but he still hated when he wasn't getting the attention he deserved. And if they're topic of conversation was going to be a serious one, and one about him no less, Draco demanded Blaise's undivided attention.

"If you're going to talk with me Blaise, then talk. Don't read a damned book while we're trying to have a conversation," he sneered. "Oh," he added, examining his fingernails, taking mental note that a couple of his knuckles were already beginning to look bruised, "and I'll have you know that my little arrangement with William  _does_ help me. I'm free to vent my anger on a rotten bum who doesn't have anyone else in his life and that I can trust won't go spilling to the Prophet. Plus it's a workout and I leave feeling like a sort of weight of anger and anxiety has been lifted from my shoulders. So you see, Blaise, it's a win-win."

Blaise stared at him dumbly for a moment, then sat back and groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Oh hell, Draco. Can you ever _not_ be bloody impossible to deal with?" he asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed, which pleased Draco somewhat. Blaise then looked up at him, as if waiting for some sort of response, but instead Draco merely responded with a sneer, his lip curling nastily over his canines. At this, Blaise's gaze turned icy. "No, of course you can't," he muttered, leaning back into his chair and staring daggers at the book that was still lying on the floor by the Floo.

Several moments passed and he and Draco continued on in silence, Blaise watching from his peripheral as Draco looked expectantly at him with a singled raised brow and his chin resting on his fist.

Finally, Blaise groaned in exasperation and shifted in his seat so that he was angled more towards Draco. He was tall, so knees stuck out so far that they were brushing the small table that sat between them. Leaning in towards Draco, he rested his elbows on his knees, preparing the rant that he had become almost too-well practiced in giving over the months to the same blond ponce who sat beside him.

"You know you're bloody daft to think that fighting in disgusting alleys will solve your problems. This has been going on for nearly a year and you're practically just as high-strung and impossible as you've ever been, which just shows me you're lying to yourself by insisting that this is actually all a positive thing," Blaise snapped, looking pointedly at the scowling man in the chair opposite him.

"Oh, and if it _was_  actually helping, you wouldn't always come stalking into my lounge right after you meet with him, wearing the same expression you used to have in school whenever you'd seen Potter and his ilk waltzing around. You have to stop kidding yourself and try and figure out a real way to handle your problems, Draco." As the words fell from Blaise's mouth, he grew apprehensive that Draco would have an outburst like he usually did if Blaise critiqued anything about the way Draco was handling his life. In fact, they'd come to nearly throwing fists a number of times over the past few years.

"I know you've had a rough go of it," he said, forcing himself to continue. "I wish things had been better for you, I really do. I consider you a mate, even after everything, but Draco you've got to face your demons. You can't keep running away from them like you've been doing you're whole life."

Draco swallowed thickly, fighting to keep his composure. His hands gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that his fingers turned white, though the contrast was lost against his intensely pale skin. He parted his lips and attempted to say something but instead he merely sat there, his mouth moving in silence as he scrambled to find any sort of response. He knew Blaise was right: he'd been a coward his entire life. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd been truly brave, even as a child. Now he was twenty four and still the same coward he'd been his entire life. It haunted him every day. Every morning, when he opened his mouth to say what he'd been trying to say for years now, but couldn't. So, he remained silent, growing more and more frustrated and disgusted with himself as each day passed. In fact, it seemed that ever since he was sixteen, all he could do was stay silent, always failing to speak up or preform.

"Oh bloody hell," Blaise huffed, picturing the turmoil that was going on inside Draco's head, if his expressions were anything to go by.

Draco couldn't hear any true exasperation in his friend's voice. Instead he heard only pity, which was worse. He could live with people being angry, irritated, or even hating him, but he couldn't deal with someone feeling sorry for him. He knew he didn't deserve it, even though he wanted desperately for someone, anyone, to finally forgive him for his past mistakes. But, Blaise? No, that he couldn't take any longer. Blaise had done more than enough for him over the years.

"Look I didn't mean to upset you," Blaise muttered stretching out a hand towards Draco. Draco saw it coming from his peripheral and, not thinking, he slapped it away before Blaise could touch him. Blaise blinked and slowly retracted his hand, unsure of what to do. At this point he'd be much more comfortable just taking a punch in the jaw from him; at least that would be a slightly more familiar response. He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped as Draco looked up at him, his face now perfectly expressionless, a tactic he had grown rather good at when he was in school and had perfected over the recent years. His eyes hardened, signaling that Blaise and the rest of the world were effectively being shut out.

"Don't worry, Blaise. I'm not going to start blubbering at you in your own house" Draco said after several moments once he had regained his composure. He even attempted to sneer, but ended up only managing to make him look like he had a bad case on indigestion. 

Leaning back in his chair, he forced a laugh, but it got caught somewhere along his throat, likely falling victim to the tension and awkwardness that still hung thickly in the room, and so the sound that ended up coming out of him instead sounded vaguely like the honk of a goose. Draco chuckled at the odd sound, and Blaise was immensely grateful as the heavy atmosphere quickly dissipated as the sound rang throughout the room. 

"So," he said, crossing his arms behind his head and gazing up towards the ceiling, "I'm taking it you haven't told Narcissa and Lucius, yet?" he prompted, deciding to take advantage of the slightly lighter atmosphere to bring up the topic Draco always seemed most reluctant to discuss.

Whatever whisper of a decent mood Draco had seemed to regain after his odd little fit was lost in an instant. His expression suddenly darkened and he scowled. "No," he snapped.

He didn't want to push Draco, especially after such an odd display of emotion, but Blaise knew he needed to say it while Draco seemed like he wasn't going to shut him out and lapse into a fit of fury. They were Slytherins, and a Slytherin is a Slytherin to the end; therefore, Blaise and Draco held an unspoken loyalty to one another, and Draco seemed to at least listen to Blaise more than anyone else's these days. He figured that meant he had a responsibility to at least try and help Draco muddle through his mess of a life. Though it wasn't like Draco had listened to him at all thus far. 

He forced himself to push past the irritation, resolving to address it later when he and Draco weren't talking about this particularly touchy topic. "What about Astoria?"

Draco's scowl deepened. "No."

Blaise's eyes flicked sideways from the ceiling and towards Draco. "You need to tell them sometime, you know." Draco glared at the floor with such vehemence the Blaise wondered if it would spontaneously catch fire.

"I can't." Draco chewed the inside of his lip. He knew it was his cowardice that was keeping him from confessing to any of them, but that was one topic of conversation he wasn't sure he'd be able to bring up even if he'd had the bravery of a fucking Gryffindor.

"So what then? You're just going to keep it a secret until you're forced to marry Greengrass and on your first night together, while she's taking her clothes, off you just look over at her, grimace and say, 'Darling, I'm terribly sorry if this puts a damper on the evening for you, but you see I'm into blokes and therefore find your naked body quite icky'."

Draco would have chuckled if the thought of what Blaise had said wasn't so sickeningly accurate. Blaise was right, of course. What was Draco really going to do? Put off outing himself until he was married and was being pressured from all sides to bonk Astoria and produce a bloody offspring? Well, he hadn't exactly thought about it, but...yes, it would probably have to come to that.

"It's just, every time I try, I just can't seem to get the words out," he whigned, lifting his finger to rub his temple. "You don't know how difficult it is, Blaise. I'd be ruined. More ruined than I was right after the war. Hated more than I've ever been. It would be like the fucking snowball effect. Everything negative anyone's ever felt about me would be brought back and added to whatever new negative feelings they'd sprout after every damned headline or article they'd read at breakfast." His voice cracked and he knew he must sound quite pathetic, but it was true. He'd been shamed enough over the past few years and he wasn't keen on willingly letting it all fall down on him again like a pile of dragon shit. People had just started to finally forget and he wanted to enjoy that gift as long as he could.

"Telling your family or Greengrass doesn't automatically mean it'll go to the press, you know." 

Draco gave him an indignant look. 

"Merlin...You just need to say it, Draco. Just...you know, pop it out one morning." Blaise shrugged, arms still folded behind his head.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Blaise," he said, sticking his nose into the air, "I really don't think my mother and father would appreciate me 'popping it out' during our morning tea."

Blaise shook his head. "Not 'pop' out your prick. You know what I mean," he snapped. "You just need to shut your eyes, take a breath, and let it all tumble out." He shrugged again. "Just say, 'Mummy, Daddy, I'm a poof.' It's as simple as that."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh yes," he sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You make it sound like I'll be announcing my father's favorite Quidditch team's just lost the World Cup. 'Oh, so sorry, but I'm afraid I like pricks. Looks like you won't be having any heirs. No one to carry on the Malfoy name. Hmph, how unfortunate. Now, would you like some cream and sugar for your tea, Mother? Father, how about you? One scoop or two?'"

Blaise's head flew back against the chair and he cursed Draco Malfoy for being so difficult to deal with. "If you're going to ignore everything I say, then for Merlin's sake just leave," he grumbled. "You're giving me a headache. It's either you're stupidly bright mop of hair, or your shitty attitude. Personally, I'm not sure, but I'm betting it's both."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Alright, you bastard," he announced haughtily, trying not to show that he was in any way pleased that Blaise was finally dropping this discussion for today - though he could've done without the nasty parting comment on his hair. 

Huffing, he stood and made his way towards the Floo.

Blaise lifted his head and watched him go, noticing the blond looked a bit too pleased as he went. The bloody ponce probably thought he'd won the argument, Blaise realized. Well, he wouldn't be leaving with the last word, that was certain.

"You'll be back around tomorrow, I'm assuming?" Blaise drawled, smiling impishly as every hint Draco's slightly triumphant expression was suddenly lost and was replaced by one of complete irritation. Blaise was really the only friend Draco had aside from Greengrass and that filthy little alley-crawler of his, so sometimes he liked to tease him about it, usually after Draco had been particularly insufferable.

"Oh," he called as Draco had barely put one foot into the Floo, "Hand me my book, will you?"

Draco glared at him and, glancing at the book that lay next to his foot, kicked its spine and sent it spinning haphazardly over towards Blaise.

"Savage," Blaise muttered as he picked it up and brushed it off. "Have some appreciation for literature, will you?"

Draco rolled his eyes cast a sneer towards Blaise before he turned and grabbed a small handful of the powder provided in a small marble container beside the Floo. Upon entering, he turned and tossed the power down as the words 'Malfoy Manor' clearly escaping his lips, and then quickly disappeared in an explosion of green flames. 

Despite feeling Draco's nasty glare boring into him throughout the entire process, Blaise didn't look up, instead making a point to reopen his book and begin reading from the point he'd been at when Draco had slapped it away.

 


End file.
